


Autumn Leaves Falling Down Like Pieces Into Place

by cpt_winniethepooh



Series: Happy Steve Bingo fills [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Central Park, Color Blind Steve Rogers, Established Relationship, Falling Leaves - Freeform, Healing, M/M, Melancholy, Meta, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Science Bros, Science Nerd Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21615328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cpt_winniethepooh/pseuds/cpt_winniethepooh
Summary: Out of all his ailments, Steve would've always said that being colorblind worried him the least. Now, however, after he got Bucky back from HYDRA, he learns to appreciate the colors of the world too.A Happy Steve Bingo fill for the prompt 'falling leaves/trees in Autumn'.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Happy Steve Bingo fills [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1139174
Comments: 7
Kudos: 73
Collections: Happy Steve Bingo 2019





	Autumn Leaves Falling Down Like Pieces Into Place

**Author's Note:**

> Title is, you guessed, from Taylor Swift. Shocker, I know. Look out for other references too XD

The serum had changed so many things for Steve. Some were life-saving changes, like his current lack of allergies, asthma, and scoliosis, just to name a few, which could've killed him before he turned 30. Then there were the 'useful in war' types: good ears, the strong muscles, the added feet or so to his height, how he could survive being shot and gutted and drowned. Then there were the aesthetics: his six-pack, his shoulders, his ass, and yeah, he wasn't gonna say no to those when Bucky kept looking at him that way.

Then there were the alternations that he put to the last place of the list of ‘most useful changes’ for the longest time, including his cured color blindness. That also came in handy a few times during the war, but honestly, there never was anything he couldn't do properly because he was colorblind, other than, you know, paint accurately – but at least he was born when expressionism had been at peak, so he hadn’t worried about it too much.

But as the trees in Brooklyn began turning to golden and orange and a deep burgundy, he suddenly became very thankful that he could _see_ them properly.

"Hey, Buck," he said on a sunny October morning. "Any plans for today?"

"I'll help Tony and Pete with something in the workshop," Bucky said. "Why?"

"I'll go with you to the Tower, and then I might go out to Central Park," Steve said.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"I wanna paint the trees," Steve said.

A wide smile blossomed on Bucky's face, and he strolled over and kissed Steve enthusiastically. "Good for you, punk."

Steve packed his drawing essentials into a messenger bag, then waved good-bye to Bucky at the foot of the Tower and hopped onto the Northbound C line. He liked the southern part of the park alright, especially the Mall with the beautiful and giant elm trees, but he wanted something less crowded. The Ramble would be the most colorful, but Steve's heart drew him to the Northest edge of the park, where the woods would be a little more secluded and still bright and wonderful.

After a good thirty minutes of riding and less than ten minutes of walking, he arrived at the North Woods.

As a child, he and Bucky never could afford to visit anything other than Prospect Park on the best of days, and the trees, no matter the season, all seemed one blur into nearly indistinguishable shades to him. Now, however, everything showed up in its full, crystal clear glory, and Steve's fingers practically itched to get them onto paper.

Paths and roads zigzagged in the woodlands; hikers walked past him, dogs barked everywhere, and Steve reveled in feeling _normal_. No aliens, no conspiracies here, only a bloke out to draw at his leisure before he went home to his guy to enjoy some homecooked meals for dinner.

The woodland absorbed almost all the noise from the city the moment Steve stepped onto the trail. Even the Pool's quiet dripping and waving sounds traveled far here, and Steve took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air as he began to walk.

He kept to a normal pace – slow, for him, but he didn't want to stand out. The hikers waved and nodded at him, like he had experienced before when he and Bucky took a trip to the Grand Canyon, then moved on. He even got to pet the friendlier dogs that ran up to greet him, dragging their owners on their leash.

The trail would do a full loop, Steve knew, but he also knew that he would find a place to set up camp before it turned back south again. The lake disappeared behind him, and he went with the flow of hikers and tourists, letting the crowd's energy to carry him easily along the trail.

The Ravine was just as magnificent in person as he had hoped it would be. Fallen trees were left to supplement the living ones, and the line of trees were so thick and so tall that the concrete jungle of the city was nothing but a distant memory.

The colors of the foliage took Steve's breath away.

He did not recognize many species; he had never needed to learn them, after all. But the red maple was hard to miss with its vibrant, almost fuchsia-like, burning leaves, and it seemed to miss the orange state as it went from green to red. The red oaks were much more rustic in color, but no less beautiful, and the artist in him delighted at the variety of hues nature had to offer.

The beech provided a much more classic leaf-shape and orange tone, and the white of the birch tree's trunks stood out against the golden leaves. The evergreens gave it all a classic green backdrop, completing the picture full of colors that he wouldn't have been able to differentiate as a child, but was glad to be able to as an adult.

Around the Huddlestone Arch, the sound of the waterfall increased again, but Steve did not stop there. A little later on, however, he spotted the perfect spot among the trees: the trunk of a fallen tree, a little way off the path, just the right size for him to sit on, and a flat piece of rock to put his bag on.

He was boots-deep in fallen leaves, and suddenly understood Disney princesses: there was something otherworldly about trekking through foliage, hearing them crunch under his feet and feeling one with nature.

He opened a new page on his sketchbook and selected his first weapon: a graphite pencil for the base lines.

He could see long and burgundy leaves, short and burning red ones; round and orange ones and sharp and gold ones. The trees shed their green in waves, and no two species was at the same phase of putting on their winter bareness. Even the barks had not only different texture, but also different shades of brown: grey and black and light and warm.

He had never had to use so many of his soft pencils before to capture the beauty of nature, not only in spring when the Ramble bloomed into something right out of a fairy tale.

As he sat there, quietly and mostly without moving, the wildlife around him came to life. He saw squirrels running up and down the trees, shaking leaves to the ground with their jumps. Birds chirped and tweeted and made all sorts of noises he had no vocabulary for, and one made him jump when it landed right behind him.

About a hundred feet away, two birdwatchers set up camp and made no movement for hours as they tried to take undisturbed photos. On the path, hikers, families with children, couples with dogs, and single walkers went by, all taking pictures or talking quietly and waving at Steve when they noticed him.

When his first illustration was done, Steve began tracing the shapes of fallen leaves onto new pages. He labelled what he could after doing his best to recreate the colors on the paper; some, he had to Google, but at least he learned what a sourwood leaf was like.

He had to sharpen his pencils multiple times, and he periodically took his jacket on and off, depending on when the Sun graced the Earth with its light, and when it hid behind clouds. But even with a dull, grey background the leaves remained bright, and if someone did and interview with Steve right then and asked him what he appreciated most about the serum, he would've praised his new eyesight without hesitation.

He only realized what the time was when even his superhuman eyes couldn't see properly anymore, and he looked up in surprise to see that dusk had fallen. He packed everything away and noted that the birdwatchers on the next clearing were still there – so it wasn't only him that got lost in this wonderful world, at least.

Joining the rest of the world, back in the land of skyscrapers and greyness, felt like the return from a long dream, or a visit to a magical realm. Steve felt thoroughly out of place on the subway, surrounded by all the harsh, artificial light and the noise, and he fell into Bucky's arms at the Tower with utter relief.

"Hey, punk," Bucky said and ran his fingers through Steve's hair. Steve buried his face in Bucky's neck, breathing in the all-too familiar chocolate-scented shampoo, which was even better than the rich wooden air in the park.

"Hey," Steve mumbled.

Bucky's eyes crinkled when they pulled apart, and the shadows under his eyes seemed smaller than before.

"How was your day?" Steve asked.

"Great! Tony and Pete are amazing to work with, but also tiring – I'm too old and too much of an introvert for them, but it was still worth it."

"You're enough of a nerd for them," Steve said, and Bucky snorted.

"We all agree on that. How about you?"

"It was wonderful to draw at the North Woods," Steve said. "I completely lost track of time."

"Thought so," Bucky said, and when Steve finally noticed his surrounding, he saw that Bucky had been reading on the couch while a song about the color red and autumn leaves was playing on the speakers. "But I'm glad you had a good time."

"Oh, yes," Steve said, and he pulled his sketchbook out. As he flipped it open, the fallen leaves he had collected and pressed fell out, but he caught them. "Here, look how pretty they are."

Bucky ran his fingers on the crisp edges and the protruding veins. His metal hand, no less, without fear and with full dexterity, and Steve never would not be thankful for that.

"They are," Bucky agreed, but he was looking intently at Steve as he said it.

"Hey, we could go back some time," Steve said. "Hike through the woods, not just the most popular bits."

"Wow, look at you. A few pretty leaves, and you turn into a farm boy?" Bucky teased.

"You'll understand it when you see it," Steve promised.

"Okay. But we'll get some hot drinks with us, and something nice to listen to."

"You'll like the sound of the water better," Steve argued, but Bucky, of course didn't listen. He confiscated the sketchbook from Steve when he wasn't looking and paged through it.

Steve stood awkwardly; always uncertain about how he should act when Bucky was examining his art.

"This is really something," Bucky said, as he got to the trees that Steve had drawn, and Steve heard the awe in his voice. "What do you think, could we get it framed?"

"Um, sure," Steve said. "Why this one?"

Bucky ran the tips of his fingers along the edge of the paper, not daring to touch the drawing itself.

"It has so much color," Bucky said. "So unlike the war, and HYDRA. So peaceful."

Steve smiled with bittersweet emotions. "See, I told you so. The forest is great."

Bucky shoved him, but Steve just draped himself over Bucky anyway.

"Yeah, fine. Fine, fine, you can take me there and show me the world of wonderful autumn woodlands."

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic where I tried to get Steve to appreciate the world without the healing power of love. Central Park still keeps sending me emails because of the research I've done for this fic - I've never even set foot in America, let alone CP :'D So if I got anything wrong, I'm sorry, there was only so much I could do armed only with Google.


End file.
